


The Road Home

by zinger17



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinger17/pseuds/zinger17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas Eve in Storybrooke and the hour is growing late. When Neal, Emma, and Henry are behind schedule showing up for their family Christmas, Rumpelstiltskin starts to panic until Belle reminds him of the road that brought them home.  Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014. For giglet-the-piglet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Home

The scent of chocolate chip cookies drifts through the air like a siren call, pulling her toward the brightly lit kitchen. Bending over, Belle cracks the oven door open just a tad and breaths in deeply, eyes fluttering closed with pleasure.

  
It’s Christmas Eve in Storybrooke and the night is fairly pulsing with wonder and magic. Belle is fairly bursting with excitement. Neal, Emma, and Henry had agreed weeks ago to spend Christmas Eve at the Gold’s before absconding over to Snow and Charming’s new home mid morning.

  
Humming under her breath, she grabs a pair of hot pads and removes the sheet from the warm stove. With an ease born of much practice, Belle expertly transfers the gooey dessert one by one onto a waiting cooling rack.

  
The dishes can wait, she decides, dumping the empty sheet into the sink. The tiny librarian turns about, hands on her hips as she surveys the kitchen, mentally running over her checklist.

  
A pot of hearty soup bubbles away on the stove, accompanied by a pan of cornbread sitting covered by a towel on the countertop, a simple supper before the feast to follow tomorrow afternoon. A large festive bowl covered in candy canes overflows with various chocolates to munch on. She’d picked up cream and marshmallows and cinnamon for hot cocoa days ago. There’s an assortment of drinks for all ages truthfully, from juice to cold beer assembled and waiting in the giant fridge but Emma and Henry were Charmings after all.

  
Satisfied, Belle tosses the dishtowel draped over her shoulder into the sink and raises her arms over her head, stretching. This might be her first official Christmas Eve but her beloved books had come through for her once again. Sifting through so many different stories and traditions about the holiday season had been tiring but completely worth it. This was going to be a wonderful evening and an even better Christmas, if she did say so herself.

  
For the final touch, Belle arranges the now cooled cookies onto a pretty red platter. Smiling, Belle balances the serving dish and wanders off in search of her wayward husband. He’s certainly never objected to the task of taste testing desserts before, Belle thinks wryly.

  
Padding through the manor is like a trip though the Winter Wonderland in the many songs she’s listened to on the ancient library radio. The massive house practically drips with garlands and glowing lights, holly and tinsel tastefully dotted everywhere. Flickering candles light every room, the scents of pine and cinnamon drift through the air, mingling with her cookies.

  
The ambiance couldn’t be more different than when she’d first walked into her true love’s new residence in this strange land. It had been soothing those first days and weeks to push and shove the piles and piles of boxes dominating every corner into submission, arranging and rearranging them into an organized fashion. Dusting, mopping, and polishing the many rooms until they sparkled had been cathartic, a way of making her mark, bringing something of herself into the place both she and her Rumple shared together. The pink mansion wasn’t just a dark, vacant storage space anymore; it was home, their home.

  
A soft noise off the living room pulls Belle up short in the hallway. Pushing away her musings, Belle eases back, peeking into the bright warm living area. The sight that greets her makes her close her eyes and sigh. He was doing it again.

  
Quietly moving further into the large space, Belle approaches Rumple, getting at good look at him from behind. Clad in his ever present full suit and tie, her husband stands by the front window, pushing the drape off to the side, peering out into the dark. Even from here she can see the large fat flakes swirling down. But she knows that is not what he is searching for.

  
“Rumple.”

  
He jerks, dropping the curtain quickly and turning about to face her. “Hey,” Rumple greets breathlessly. Spotting the platter in her hands, a small smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, those look lovely, darling,” her husband praises, his dark eyes warm but strained at the corners.

  
Belle watches him, heart aching. Christmas was an absolutely magical time in this land, a time of joy and family and friends. Yet, the closer the date crept, the more anxious and apprehensive her True Love had become. Rumple was hardly the Scrooge she’d read about on a slow afternoon at the library. In fact, the bitter banker and Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t be more different if they tried.

  
Rumple had been on a festive rampage since they’d woken up to realize it was the first of December and no magic curse or mortal crisis loomed on the horizon yet. He’d bought top of the time decorations, insisted on selecting the largest Christmas tree Belle had ever laid eyes on- she suspected magic was somehow involved in fitting said tree in the house. He’d found her records of classic Christmas songs to listen too- she didn’t fully understand computers as of yet and according to Rumple he wasn’t going to introduce her to those abominations known as ‘iPods’ and ‘playlist nonsense’. If she didn’t know she married an obscenely wealthy man, she’d be seriously concerned about the balance in their bank account after her husband proceeded to ransack every store in town, purchasing anything and everything he thought his family might possibly want.  
No, Rumple certainly didn’t lack the holiday spirit; he lacked the confidence that his loved ones wanted to spend it with him.

  
It makes Belle’s eyes burn with unshed tears. All Rumple’s ever desired is within his grasp: his family all together with him, happy and safe. And it’s as clear as the nose on his face that Rumple is terrified if he doesn’t provide his loved ones with the perfect family Christmas, they will not return for another.

  
Every time Belle thinks she’s successfully soothed his worries away, Rumple’s fears return. Now that it’s Christmas Eve her love is an absolute ball of nerves, wound tighter than a spring. This is the sixth time Belle has caught him checking the street for the yellow bug, no doubt half convinced Neal and his family won’t even bother to show up.

  
“They’ll be here Rumple,” she mummers softly. Her husband’s hands still, then tighten. “Neal and Emma and Henry are all coming. They said they would love to spend the night here with us,” she continues, undaunted by Rumple’s narrowing eyes and pinched lips. “This is Emma’s first Christmas with her parents too. Henry told me yesterday they were planning on heading over to see the Darlings before coming here. They probably just lost track of the time. We’re all still figuring this out.”

  
“I know, Belle,” Rumple mutters, avoiding her eyes. He steps around and away, coming up short beside the tree standing guard in the center of the room. Belle watches his fingers rub anxiously together at his sides. “I’m sure they’re having a marvelous time,” Rumple continues, his voice tight. ‘Much better than what they will have here.’ Belle hears him finish.

  
She clenches her hands, wishing she could physically drag the insecurities plaguing her husband away from him, allowing him to stop fretting and simply savor this experience with her.

  
Since battling demons from the past is impossible, even in this bizarre town, she would have to settle for distracting him until his son’s family actually arrived.  
Following Rumple to the center of the room, she lays her hand gently on his back, feeling the corded muscles practically vibrating with tension. “Come sit with me, darling,” she coaxes, pulling him away from beside the glittering tree and toward the sofa. He begrudgingly allows her to maneuver him into a comfortable spot right in front of the crackling fire lined with stockings Santa would stuff later that night.

  
Once seated, Rumple turns to her with a pained look. “Belle please. I’m perfectly fine love. There’s no need for you to feel like you must hold my hand.”

  
Belle just plucks a cookie from the platter and sets it on the coffee table. Patting his hand, Belle patiently holds out the treat. “Here sweetheart. Have a cookie, you’ll feel better.”  
“I don’t want a cookie,” The Dark One folds her arms grumpily and makes a point of looking away. Belle bites back a laugh.

  
“They’re chocolate chip,” she tempts, waving the dessert under his nose. Her husband’s eyes shift back at that. “Fresh out of the oven.” she continues. Glowering, he wavers until finally surrendering, taking the offered treat and biting into it.

  
Belle smiles, watching him munch. “Of course I’m going to hold your hand, Rumple,” she tells him as she proceeds to do just that. “This is our very first Christmas together here. Your son and his family are coming to celebrate with us. After everything we’ve been through, all that uncertainty, we’re finally enjoying our happy ending. Why wouldn’t I hold the hand of the man I love on tonight of all nights?”

  
The look of dazed happiness spreading Rumple’s face at her words makes Belle’s heart sing. Scooting closer, she tucks her arm around his shoulder and rests her chin on his shoulder, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. Neal and Emma and Henry would arrive soon enough. Until then, distraction was key. “Do you remember the first winter I was at the Dark Castle?”

  
Rumple smiles shyly back, wrapping his free arm around her. “Oh course, sweetheart,” He assures her. “Why do you ask?”  
“I was just thinking that you were so much more enthusiastic about the decorations this time around,” she teases, giggling at the affronted face he pulls in response, thinking back all those years ago…

  
…….

  
Lady Belle of Avonlea perches on the end of her bed, slowing running her brush through her hair as she prepares for bed. She doesn’t even know why she bothers, Belle thinks somewhat bitterly. It’s not as if anyone is around to notice one way or the other.

  
Swallowing back sobs, Belle furiously yanks the last know straight and pitches the brush onto the vanity in the corner, throwing herself down on the bed to stare at the ceiling.  
Blinking hard, Belle focuses on counting her blessings. Quite a bit of time has passed since she’d slept in a locked dungeon, for one. One night closely following the debacle involving Robin Hood and the magic bow, she’d returned to her cell exhausted to find it transformed into a comfortable suite, complete with a bathing area and large, comfortable bed.

  
When serving him breakfast the following morning, she’d taken his hand in hers and attempted to thank him. The Dark One giggled nervously, dismissing it with a flittering wave and a trilling, “Tis nothing dearie! The nights are growing colder and an invalid for a maid is no maid at all after all.” He then promptly puffed away in a cloud of smoke.

  
Rumpelstiltskin might be an odd and unsettling man, with his black jokes and strange mannerisms, but he no longer inspired terror like when she’d first arrived. And he was the only company she had. Once upon a time, the scholarly noblewomen had longed for silence and solitude away from bustling court life. Her books inspired and nourished the worlds fueled by her imagination and at times Belle fiercely resented the many balls and social gatherings that pulled her from those worlds.

  
Now, after days upon days of isolation Belle positively ached for conversation, even the unfortunate Gaston’s long winded tales of the numerous hunting parties he’d taken part in. Rumpelstiltskin had been absent for almost a fortnight now on one of his mysterious deals and the Dark Castle’s halls echoed with the empty silence.

Even that wasn’t the true cause of her distress, Belle admits to herself, hugging her duvet closer. Tonight marked the beginning of Winter Solstice.

  
Solstice existed as a tradition enjoyed and celebrated by all in the Enchanted Forest, regardless of which of the gods they worshiped. Some of Belle’s fondest memories revolve around it, from when she was a wide eyed child, clinging to her mother’s hand. By now, the castle gates have surely swung open with a loud bang and entire town and surrounding villages flooded the courtyard, men, women, and children singing and laughing. Roaring bonfires undoubtedly light the night, while platters of meats and vegetables, cheeses and breads are shared. Sweets and puddings will follow, the ale will flow freely, and for one night peasants and nobles will mingle together and make merry as one.

  
Ever adventurous and curious, Belle always reveled in the change and excitement Solstice brings. Even as a grown woman, she loved the chance to mingle and meet so many new people, with new stories and adventures to tell. She loved the dancing, the laughter, the happiness the festivity brought.

  
There would be no music or amusement this year for her, Belle thought, biting down on her rising emotions. No stories, no festivity, no feast. Her people will celebrate without her tonight and Belle had never felt the sting of her desperate deal more. If only mama hadn’t died, she thinks wretchedly, heart twisting, the sour taste of bitterness rising in her throat. If only papa had thought of something sooner. If only...

  
Abruptly, Belle sits up in her dim quarters. “Enough!” she declares to the darkness. Flinging her heavy quilts to the side, the small women marches to her vanity and slams her hands on the top, leaning forward to stare at herself in the mirror.

  
“Enough of this feeling sorry for yourself,” she orders her reflection sternly, jabbing a finger for emphasis. “Nothing is stopping you from celebrating Solstice, even here. You’re in a magic castle for goodness sakes! There has to be something you can pull together.”

  
Belle sets her jaw, lips pursing determinedly. She is going to celebrate Winter Solstice and no sadness, solitude, or deals with dark ones were going to stand in her way.  
Belle has never wandered about a castle clad only in her nightclothes before but there’s a first time for everything. Squaring her shoulders, Belle marches toward the kitchen. It was a good a place to start as any.

  
Several hours later, she stands exhausted in the great hall, surveying her success. Fat tallow candles glow all over the room, scattered about in replacement of bonfires. She’d also pulled together a lovely little feast of her own from the kitchen, complete with a nice bottle of wine. She’d flung several quilts snagged from her quarters onto the settees in front of the hearth. After building a roaring fire Belle had placed everything in front of the heat for her solitary celebration.  
All that’s left, Belle decides, is some festive decorations.

  
Running up the winding stairs, Belle approaches Rumpelstiltskin’s workroom cautiously. She’d entered this space many times before to fetch and clean but never unaccompanied. Easing inside Belle hurries past the workbench and spinning wheel- really, how many of those where there in this castle?!- And locates a shelf filled with many green, leafy herbs. Mistletoe, she remembers her master calling it. No real magical properties unless mixed with something else and with the lovely red berries, the greens would look exquisite hanging in the windows in the great hall.

  
Locating the ladder is the work of minutes and soon Belle perches precariously on the rungs carefully arranging mistletoe along the top of the first window pane. Leaning over to fluff and tuck, Belle misses the doors creaking open. Suddenly a voice booms out, “What do you think you’re doing!?”

  
Belle shrieks, almost losing her grip, the ladder wobbling dangerously.

  
“Wait,” the voice cries out and suddenly she is steady again. Belle looks down and finds herself staring into the eyes of her long gone master clutching the base of the ladder securely. Rumpelstiltskin stares back up at her, wide eyed and slack jawed.

  
“You scared me!” Belle screeches once she gathers her wits at the same moment Rumpelstiltskin squawks “What are you wearing?!

  
Glancing down at her linen nightgown and bare feet, Belle feels blood rush to her face. A flame of anger at her lord follows closely after. Of course, of course the dratted man would choose to return at the most inopportune moment possible.

  
Glaring daggers at the Dark One might not be the sanest decision in the world but it’s the only one left to her with her dignity still somewhat intact. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she retorts sharply. “I’m decorating!”

  
According to every governess her father ever employed, Belle boasted an extremely overactive imagination but there seems to be a reddish hue spreading over Rumpelstiltskin’s cheeks as well. His eyes are firmly fixed downward as he addresses the stone floor. “And whatever brought on this pressing need to spruce up the hall dearie? In the middle of the night as well? Was one time almost falling to your death not quite enough?”

  
Belle gaps at the ridiculous wizard. “No!” she snaps indignantly. She’s vaguely aware that she’s never spoken to her master in such a tone before but she’s far, far too embarrassed and vexed at this point to care. “Don’t you know what tonight is?” Belle demands, scowling down at him. All she receives is a confused, black stare in return. “The Winter Solstice. It begins tonight. I thought a celebration in order.”

  
The Dark One’s shoulders jerk at her explanation. “Ah, yes. Solstice.” His voice is very quiet. “I’d forgotten.”

  
Belle isn’t sure want to make of his tone but something about it pokes at her, pricking her conscience for being so sharp with him. “Well,” she tells him slowly, “I’m going to celebrate at least. And to do so I need to finish hanging this mistletoe. Can you please move the ladder for me over to the other window?”

  
For the second time that night, Rumpelstiltskin is gaping at her like a fish. After a few moments his mouth snaps shut and he insists on holding the ladder steady while she arranges the mistletoe to her liking. When Belle checks halfway through her self appointed task, she only sees the top of his wild hair, his face still turned to face the floor. For all his fearsome reputation as a beastly monster, his chivalrous manner proves once again there is much more beneath the snarling surface of the Dark One. Her stomach flutters nervously in a strange way at such thoughts and Belle focuses on finishing quickly.

  
“Thank you Rumpelstiltskin,” she says softly once she is safely on solid ground. He snorts, waving away the appreciation with an extravagant flourish. “You won’t be thanking me tomorrow morning little maid. Don’t think you can slack off your morning duties because of making merry in the middle of the night!” He lets out a high pitched giggle before his face hardens and he steps forward, leaning into her personal space. “Observe this ridiculous, inane little holiday if you must but I expect breakfast at the usual time tomorrow or else!” He presses in closely, sneering for maximum affect, no doubt preparing to spin about and flounce off.

  
A strange, sorrow in his eyes belies his dismissive words, hitting Belle straight in the stomach and before she can think better of it, her arm snakes out grabbing Rumpelstiltskin by the arm, stopping him. “Come and join me,” she requests impulsively.

  
Rumpelstiltskin could have been a statue for how he stilled at her words. “What?” he finally chokes, hands fluttering madly in the air. His voice is deeper, raspier, more like a man’s Belle notices. It gives her the courage to continue to push.

  
Taking advantage of his shock, Belle pulls on his arm and drags him over to the front of the fire. Upon reaching their destination, the Dark One comes back to life, arms flapping wildly. “I...I...what?” he gasps again, while Belle pushes him down into a seat.

  
“We are going to have a nice little celebration together,” she tells him firmly, handing him a plate. “It’s Solstice and it’s my favorite night of the year so we’re going to sit here and enjoy ourselves,” Belle plops down to join him and pours a goblet of wine. “Here,” Rumpelstiltskin grabs at the offered drink and after a moment gulps it down, staring at his suddenly assertive maid with wide eyes.

  
Belle gathers her own plate, settling in. She refuses to feel awkward about this ridiculous situation, sitting with a cowed and confused Dark One clad only in her nightclothes. It is shocking, it is ridiculous, and it is her life now so she might as well get used to it.

  
“Mama loved Winder Solstice too,” she explains pouring her own drink. “It’s why I love it so much. I think a part of Papa thinks its silly nonsense to put so much effort into it every single year but it made her happy so it made him happy.”

  
It’s nice, sitting in front of the fine with a silent Rumpelstiltskin, sharing stories about home. Her master doesn’t eat any of the meal she prepared but pours cup and cup of wine- he’s cheating, there is no possible way to extract so much out of one bottle.

  
The fire is burning low when she finally runs out of memories to share and goes silent. Oddly, the loneliness and hurt from earlier that night is gone. Somehow, even thinking about those she saved rejoicing without her brings peace instead of pain. Chancing to look over toward her companion, she slaps her hand over her mouth, holding in the giggles. Her master is in quite a state. Rumpelstitskin slumps over, clutching his goblet tightly to his chest, blinking slowly and hazily at her, as loose and relaxed as she’s ever seen him.

  
Seeing her staring at him, he perks up, dragging himself upright, swaying. “Belle,” he whispers leaning over and grasping at her knee, missing a few times. “Belle,” he tries again. “I...haven’t....haven’t had a Solstice in...a long time,” He sways some more, his dark eyes wide and earnest. “But this...this is the best one in a long...long...time,” and with that her master hiccups and collapses back on the settee.

  
Biting down on more laughter and a strange rising tenderness, Belle pats his hand. “That’s good Rumpelstiltskin,” she informs him. Hunting down a quilt liberated from her bed, she folds it over her sloshed employer. He sighs muttering, “The best Belle. The best,” and Belle dares to smooth his hair back from his face.

  
“Alright. Go to sleep now,” she coxes and the Dark One snuffles and tucks his face down, dropping down into sleep like a stone into water. Belle tucks the blanket more comfortably about him, before backing away, the shivery feeling from earlier rising up to swirl about in her stomach again. Retreating quickly, she leaves Rumpelstiltskin to sleep it off in front of the fire.

  
As she walks back to her chambers Belle wraps her arms around herself and smiles.  
....

“And I woke up with the worst headache in centuries thanks to you,” her husband mock complains, smiling down at her. Belle smacks him playfully.

  
“Hey now! I wasn’t the one refilling the bottle by questionable means,” she laughs, tucking her cold feet under his legs. Rumple hisses, then quickly kisses her forehead.  
“I hadn’t had a Solstice for years and years until that night,” he mummers, rubbing her arm absently. “Since I lost Bae in actual fact,” he admits. “We never had much but it was the one day of the year we were included in the festivities of the village. Baelfire was always exited because there were sweets to eat and he loved the dances. There was no reason to mark the day with my boy gone. No reason at all.”

  
He’s trailing off, glancing nervously at the window again and Belle distracts him quickly, leaning forward to cup his chin. Smiling coyly, she strokes his face. “You want to know what I can’t believe?” she mummers and Rumple nods, curious. “I can’t believe I hung mistletoe all over the Dark Castle and you didn’t do a thing about it,” she teases.

  
A wicked smile crosses her husband’s face at her words and he leans forward to whisper, “Well, Mrs. Gold, it didn’t have the same meaning in the Enchanted Forest as it does here,” his breath hot in her ear. Belle shivers. “But,” his teeth scrape against her skin, “this can be rectified now, can’t it?”

  
Pulling back to smirk at her, Rumple snaps his fingers and a dangling ball of mistletoe suddenly appears, hang over the couch. Belle bursts into giggles, mingling with her husband’s deep chuckle.

  
“Much better than fiddling with a ladder,” Rumple snarks, tilting his head. Belle responds by dipping and capturing his mouth with hers. For long minutes they kiss softly, warm wet caresses. Belle reaches up to cup his face, tilting it to the side. Gods, she loves his mouth.

  
Indulging in it, Belle nibbles on Rumple’s lower lip, gently biting down. He groans, slipping his hands down her sides to rest on her hips, thumbs gently rubbing.  
Suddenly hot and urgent, Belle swings her legs over to straddle his lap, skirt settling around her as she grinds down on his hardening length. Rumple grunts softly, a needy sound that never fails to make Belle’s head spin. She runs her hands through his long, grey streaked hair, suddenly gripping and tugging.

  
Her husband growls, eyes going hot and dark, his clever fingers deftly going to unbutton her blouse. Belle sighs, wiggling about to find a more comfortable position and Rumple chuckle again. Together they manage to mostly undress her, Rumple slipping the shirt off her and loosening her black bra.

  
His eyes glaze at the sight of her bare breasts and he caresses them gently, running his fingers along the swell. Belle shivers, nipples puckering and growing hard in the warm air. Rumple teases them, circling them softly until Belle snaps and grabs his forearms, gasping, “Pinch them,”

  
All but panting at her words, Rumple groans, “Oh yes, love,” and firmly grasps her pink nipples, gently pulling until Belle squirms and sobs. “Off,” is all she manages to gasp, tugging at his trousers.

  
“Oh to hell with it,” Rumple snarls and with a puff of magic they are both naked, twined together on the settee.”

  
“Why…do you always…cheat?” Belle wonders and her husband jerks his head back, staring at her incredulously.

  
“Well, are you complaining then?” Rumple demands breathlessly and Belle quickly shakes her head.

  
“Just a…observation,” she gasps and bites down on his shoulder. He shouts at that, bucking wildly and Belle reaches down to tease his length, rubbing the damp stickiness at the top. Rumple shakes madly and Belle mummers, “Most definitely not complaining,” before pulling him into a sloppy, messy kiss.

  
They’re both far to keyed up for any more careful loving. Rumple continues to caress her breasts, slipping his fingers under her skirt, pushing her panties aside to curl up into that wonderful spot that makes her see stars.

  
Sobbing, Belle shakes and grinds until Rumple gasps, “Up love up, let me in,” and she can hardly make her knees work long enough to push herself high enough for Rumple to slide inside her in one long slide, crying out loudly.

  
With his newly restored leg Rumple is able to thrust up while she grinds down and it’s all heat and sweat and groaning, spiraling higher and higher and higher until Belle quakes and screams and the world explodes into shivering color.

  
Quivering through the aftershocks, Belle clings to her husband as he continues to plunge deeply into her, grunting and gasping until he finally finds his release, crying out loudly and shaking, cresting the wave.

  
Collapsing back onto the thoroughly rumpled couch, they fall into each other’s arms, pressing closely together. Cuddling under his chin, Belle wraps her arms around him. “Best Christmas ever,” she declares sleepily.

  
“You’ve never had one before,” Rumple points out reasonably and Belle just pinches him until he squeaks.

  
“Doesn’t matter. I know something so perfectly wonderful I can’t live without it when I see it,” Belle tells him gently and her husband’s face lights up brighter than the outrageously large Christmas tree behind them.

  
A loud banging knock on the front door kills the moment and they spring apart, Rumple crying out, “Oh good gods they’re here!”

  
Scrambling to untangle their clothes takes far too long and another louder knock resounds through the house. “Magic, use magic, if there’s any time to cheat it’s now!” Belle exclaims and Rumple pulls up short and slaps his hand on his forehead. With a quick snap they’re presentable again and from there it’s a mad scramble to open the front door.

  
Three figures stand shivering in the falling snow, holding several brightly wrapped boxes in their arms. “It’s cold,” cries Henry, jostling past them to scramble into the warm foyer while his parents follow at a more sedately pace, taking the time to dump their snow covered packages into the corner.

  
“Sorry we’re late,” Neal apologizes, loosening his scarf. “The roads are getting pretty icy out there. It’s coming down really hard now.”

  
“It’s perfectly alright! We’re just happy you’re here,” Belle says as she holds out her hands to take the coat Emma is shucking off.

  
“Yes. We’re…we’re very glad you’re all here,” a quiet voice echoes from behind them. Rumple is standing back, watching them from afar. For all the adventures and battles and tragedies they have endured together, Belle has never seen such a look on her true love’s face before. It’s an achingly timid, hopeful vulnerability that cuts at her.

  
Neal softens, stepping forward and holding out both hands to his father. Belle almost misses the way Rumple’s hands tremble when he reaches out to grasp them. “Merry Christmas, papa,” Neal says softly.

  
“Merry Christmas son,” Rumple breaths back and they wrap their arms around each other in a fierce embrace. Emma’s eyes shine speciously bright as she watches her fiance with his father and Belle is glad to see she is not the only one tearing up.  
“Hey! There’s chocolate chip cookies in here, I smell them,” Henry bellows from insid

e the hallway and all the adults burst into startled laughter, the emotional moment breaking.

  
“Cookies? Hold up buddy, I’m coming,” Neal calls hurrying quickly after his son. Emma rolls her eyes and trails behind calling, “Uh guys? Presents!”

  
Belle looks at her smiling, teary eyed husband. He looks dazed, so happy and amazed he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Catching his hand, Belle squeezes and whispers, “Come on. Everyone’s waiting for us,”

  
Rumple just nods. Belle turns around to walk inside but her husband stays still, pulling her back gently by the hand. Cocking her head, Belle looks at him quizzically. “Sweetheart?”

  
Rumple just steps closer and cups her face, pressing his forehead to hers. His eyes are shining, positively lit from within. His whisper is soft and breathless and reverent, filled with hope and peace and joy.  
“We’re home.”

 


End file.
